While Julius and Augustus took over the Gwent Palace to recuperate their losses, sothing completely unexpected had arrived just by the city’s gates.
It was an entire procession of priests, with one archbishop in the middle of the formation holding a gilded chest.
"What is that...?"
Julius questioned, looking over the palace windows as he saw the priests currently talking to the guards stationed by the gate.
"Let see."
Augustus stood up from lying on a sofa, nudging himself at the window where Julius was looking at him.
"Huh, I have absolutely no idea."
"There are other windows, you know?"
"Yeah, but it’s more fun ssing with you."
Augustus shrugged, returning to the sofa as he waved off Julius’ concern.
"The soldiers will relay the information soon. I suggest you don’t stress yourself over sothing we don’t even know yet."
"I’m surprised soone like you beca an archduke..." Julius laughed, continuing to stare at the window, making sure that the priests don’t attempt anything sketchy with the soldiers.
"It’s precisely because I’m like this that I beca an archduke; nobody really knows what to think of , which makes it easier to trick people."
"I don’t bla them; it’s hard to understand soone who acts like a child all the ti."
Augustus smirked at Julius’ response. "Where did you get that sharp tongue of yours, brother?"
"Justinian’s spymaster said I should try being more threatening..."
Augustus laughed. "You call that threatening?"
"...I’m trying, okay?"
KNOCK! KNOCK!
"Guess they’re done talking."
Augustus stood up, fixing his attire as he cleared his throat. "Enter."
The doors opened slightly, a soldier’s head poking out as he began to deliver the news.
"My lords, it seems like the Holy Allied Territories are offering surrender."
"Surrender? In what terms?" Julius turned around.
"Well... they said they’re willing to beco vassals if... if you two manage to heal Marquis Raven."
Augustus tilted his head at their proposition, sitting back down as he crossed his legs and rested his arm on the armchair.
He was less than convinced.
"What...? Letting soone that impulsive and dangerous live would be a stupid choice."
"Brother..."
Julius gave a cold look toward Augustus, not amused by his casual remark of just letting a life die, while he himself was a soldier who had killed thousands on the battlefield; a surrendering man should at least be allowed to live.
"If one is willing to surrender, then we should give him the chance to recover."
"You’re too naive, he’s dangerous, you’ve seen the way he has managed to stop our army just with his gifts alone, completely."
"Then let’s compromise, if he ever beca an issue, I’ll strike him down myself."
Augustus raised a brow, then grinned. He didn’t expect sothing like that from his ever-so-kind brother, but it was definitely a refreshing change of pace from the constant golden child personality he always had.
’Seems like Justinian affected him.’
Augustus thought briefly, then looked toward the ssenger.
"Bring them in, we’ll discuss their terms in more detail."
***
The procession was escorted into the grand audience chamber, a room that once belonged to Gwent’s proud governors, now draped with the twin banners of Julius and Augustus. The hall was quiet. Not tense, not hostile, just quiet, as though everyone present understood that sothing beyond warfare was taking place.
Julius stood near the elevated throne-like seat, not sitting, simply standing, with the kind of presence that made sitting feel disrespectful. Augustus, on the other hand, lounged in the chair beside him like it was his personal study.
The priests entered, robes fluttering like ripples of parchnt in the wind.
In the center, the archbishop stepped forward, carrying the gilded chest with both hands. He did not bow in reverence to the triumphant conquerors.
He bowed as though in the presence of sothing older.
"The Victorian brothers." His voice echoed, not loudly, but clearly. "The Holy Allied Territories co not to bargain," his gaze briefly flicked to Augustus, "nor to beg," then to Julius, "but to fulfill."
Augustus smirked. "Fulfill? That’s an interesting word to use when you’re practically surrendering your entire central authority."
The archbishop did not look offended. Nor afraid.
He simply placed the gilded chest down between them, carefully, respectfully, almost like an altar offering.
"It is not we who surrender," the archbishop said slowly, "but the old beliefs... to the new truths, to the two brothers who harness the gods’ power like it was theirs."
That caught Julius’ attention.
He approached, not with greed or suspicion, but with curiosity.
"What is inside?"
The archbishop hesitated, then smiled, not with joy, but with the satisfaction that they were willing to listen to them.
"The deed of the Raven’s lands, along with the late Besmund and Ilmund’s."
"So just the entire land of the Holy Allied Territories?" Augustus remarked.
"Yes." The archbishop nodded.
Augustus leaned forward.
Not startled. Not impressed.
Interested.
Julius remained calm, but even he paused. Lands could be seized, but deeds? Deeds ant consent.
Augustus’ fingers drumd lightly on the armrest.
"So let be clear," he began slowly, voice soft, not threatening, but dissecting. "In exchange for healing Marquis Raven, the sa man who weaponized faith, crippled armies, nearly toppled our march, you offer us... all his land?"
The archbishop did not blink.
"We offer you recognition. Not conquest. Not occupation. Legitimacy."
Augustus smiled. That word, legitimacy, was worth more than a dozen fortresses.
He stood up, his manner lazy, almost disarming, but his words were precise, surgical.
"Land taken by force remains land taken by force. People rember. People resist. They wait for their lords to co back." He approached the gilded chest, never looking away from the archbishop. "But land given..." he tapped the lid lightly, "...is land obeyed."
Finally, the archbishop smiled.
"You understand."
Julius folded his arms, observing. Augustus wasn’t just negotiating; he was teaching.
The archbishop continued, "Marquis Raven’s lands were once united under faith, not governance. But faith cannot hold fields. Nor feed armies. Nor build cities."
"So you want," Augustus said, voice now more thoughtful, "soone who can."
"You," the archbishop replied simply. "Or rather... you both, along with the liege you serve."
There was no flattery in his tone.
Only inevitability.
Silence lingered. Not a hostile one. A weighing one.
Julius finally spoke.
"And Raven? You truly believe he will accept living under us?"
"Marquis Raven," the archbishop answered, "does not need to accept. Only survive."
Augustus chuckled.
That was surprisingly pragmatic.
He stepped closer to the archbishop, not imposing, but sharply focused.
"You’re not here to spare Raven," Augustus said quietly. "You’re here to spare the idea of Raven."
The priest’s silence confird it.
The Holy Territories knew Raven was finished, not just militarily, but symbolically. A lord who loses his land loses power. But a lord who hands it, willingly, becos a witness.
A transition.
Raven himself was a hero of faith and a veteran of the kingdom; his death would only cripple the lands he once ruled over. Keeping him alive as an idea of a warrior of faith ensured that the lands Augustus, Julius, and Justinian would eventually obtain remain productive.
Augustus’ eyes softened in that unnerving way of his.
"Very well," he said, "You’ll have Raven alive. But not commanding armies. Nor calling banners. Nor praying to rally the desperate."
He looked toward Julius.
"You said you’d strike him down if needed?"
Julius nodded.
Augustus’ gaze returned to the archbishop, sharp now, like a negotiator slipping the final clause in a perfect treaty.
"He lives," he said. "But he never leads again."
The archbishop lowered his head in agreent.
"That is all we ask."
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